Pieces of Stone
by Reichenbach
Summary: xover There are Death Eaters in Bludhaven. Harry Potter and Nightwing are determined to find out why. Just added chapter 8
1. Merry Christmas, Mr Potter

Standard disclaimers apply. I own neither set of characters. This is for fun, bla bla bla.

Pieces of Stone

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Chapter 1: Merry Christmas, Mr. Potter.

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Even with the wind kicking up around the rooftops and the Christmas Eve traffic blaring and honking below, Nightwing heard him coming a mile away. There wasn't anything subtle about the snap-hiss associated with Apparating.

He didn't turn, nor did he jump off the building as he had intended to. Something was afoot. "What can I do for you, Potter?"

The man in the round-rimmed glasses and dark robes joined him near the ledge. "You know, holiday visits and all that."

Dick almost smiled. Almost. He'd had a rough year, and would much rather be doing anything other than patrolling on Christmas Eve. However, his recent breakup had sort of made his plans for him. "Right."

Harry shrugged. "I have business here. I figured it would be polite to announce myself. Especially after what happened in Metropolis."

"I think you were fine until the Ministry of Magic crossed over international jurisdiction to start rewriting memories. It didn't help that they tried to mind wipe Superman." Nightwing actually did smile. There was something amusing about it being an international incident perpetrated by an organization that didn't, but most standards, exist.

Dick's companion shrugged. "Wasn't me. I was gone by then."

"You always are, Harry."

Harry gestured to the traffic down below. "You're one to talk."

Nightwing saw the new scars on Harry's face, white and fresh in parallel lines up and down, barely missing his eye, and looked away. "Is there anything else you needed, Potter?"

His companion continued to stare down at the traffic and street lights silently.

Dick recognized that look. It was something that Bruce's features betrayed every year at the same time—longing mingled with regret. "I was sorry to hear about Ginny."

Harry turned away from the ledge and pulled out his wand. "Yeah. Me too." Muttering something under his breath, there was a crackle in the air, and he was gone.

Dick knew it wasn't any of his business, but he felt compelled, somehow, to help. Not so much with whatever business Harry was about, he was an Auror and quite capable of handling whatever sort of dark wizards might be lurking around his city. However, he didn't like seeing a guy he'd once considered a semi-friend running around in pain. It just wasn't being a good friend—and he knew from experience, it was dangerous. People who's heads were wrapped around their hearts made mistakes.

Wonder Girl sat in the sand tugging at her ponytail to distract from the pain as Robin tried to straighten out her leg. He didn't think it was broken, but it was swollen up fairly nice, and he didn't want to take any chances.

"I thought you were supposed to be invincible or something," Speedy pointed out.

"I thought you were supposed to be able to hit the broad side of a barn or something," she retorted. Wincing when Robin touched one of the nasty bruises on her calf, she tried to take it back. "I'm sorry, Roy. I just—well, I kind of thought I was more… durable than that."

Robin removed a pill from his utility belt. "Bite down on this. It should help with the pain. I don't think that was a normal dragon."

Speedy smacked his forehead. "Why can't I be the leader again? And when's the last time you saw a normal dragon? Dragon's aren't normal, twinkletoes."

A blur of yellow and red came tearing up the coastline before it came to a halt in front of them, spraying sand all over the group. "It's coming back! It's coming back!"

The red and gold dragon returned, and he was mighty pissed. Not only was he shooting out fifty foot trails of fire from his snout, but he'd also managed to bring a few of his friends.

Speedy grabbed his bow and scrambled to his feet. "Just so you know, this is THE WORST camping trip, EVER."

Out of options and ideas, Robin threw Wonder Girl over his shoulder and ran.

Besides the war cries of three angry dragons and the heavy flapping of their long-stretched wings, there was another type of cry Robin began to hear, one that sounded more human. He didn't spare a look behind him, however. Wonder Girl still in tow, he dove into the shallow pit made in the small patches of grass at the base of a huge bolder near the cliffs. Making sure Donna was protected, he spun around to asses the situation.

There was a rope on the leg of the third dragon, and trailing at the end of that rope was a human being. His red hair was blazing by like Wally with his hood off, and he was screaming like a bird that used to hang around the circus. Robin leapt onto a rock then jumped as the boy on the rope passed, grabbing hold of the splintery, dry organic twists. His gloves slid down a full foot as he was dragged along for the ride.

The young man's leg was caught in the rope that seemed to have twisted and snagged on itself into almost a knot. Sliding to the end of the rope, Robin wrapped one leg around the rope and began trying to untangle the young man who couldn't have been much older than he was. G forces were working against them, though, and after coming around the beach for the second time, Robin finally opted to grab an acid capsule out of his utility belt and burn through the rope. It took a few seconds, and the other young man screamed the whole time, but when he saw the rope about to sever completely, Robin reached out and grabbed his companion and held him close as they began plummeting to the earth.

A second before having to make a sloppy, lopsided landing, a hand grabbed the edge of his cape, nearly cut off his supply of air, and changed his direction. They were going forward and slightly up, and for a moment he thought that Superman had come to his rescue. That was, until he looked up and saw the youth-sized hand on the edge of his cape, and just above that, a broom. Y'know, like the kind colonial people made by hand. Or witches used.

They were let down onto the beach a minute later, and the gasping redhead collapsed onto the sand, poking at the huge tear in his faded black pants. "Charlie's trying to kill me, he is!"

The other guy pushed moppy black hair off of his round glasses and away from a weird looking scar on his forehead and took a crafted wooden stick out of his pocket, pointing it at the torn pants and red, scratched leg of his friend. "Pardus reparum."

Robin had seen some cool stuff in his time—most of it was stuff Bruce made down in the Batcave, but this took the cake. The pants started weaving themselves back together. Alfred totally needed one of those things.

Instinctively, Dick leaned closer, observing even the fibers of each thread had rebound themselves. Next thing Robin knew, the stick was pointed at him. "I'd like to know your intentions."

The red head scrambled to his feet just as Roy came tearing down the beach towards them. "Take it easy, Harry. He saved me from that lunatic dragon. If you're going to point that thing, point it at Charlie. He's the one who said that feeding Bertha would be fun. Go turn HIM into a toad or something."

Wand, Dick realized. Broom, wand, self-healing pants. He was a detective, he could take a hint. He also wondered why it couldn't have just been Superman that'd latched onto his cape.

Nightwing watched the traffic for a few more minutes before departing. Dry flakes had begun to drift down, landing on the city and whipping across the ground with the wind. It didn't make him feel any closer to the Christmas spirit. He wondered what in the hell could bring Harry Potter to Bludhaven.

Of course, the quickest way to find that answer was to find Ronald Weasley.

It wouldn't be hard. Ron would probably be exactly where he was the last time they had spoken on matters regarding Harry Potter. Even for his previously adventurous life, Weasley was content with a quiet, humble existence.

Ron Weasley set down his china cup. It clinked and scraped against the saucer sitting on his desk. Wincing, he turned his attention fully back to the green flame emanating from his fireplace. "We don't talk so much any more. That's not true, exactly. We don't talk at all any more. Not since… well. I don't know. I think he thinks I blame him for what happened to Ginny."

"Come on," the image in the flame pleaded. "You have to know something."

Using a cane of heavy knotted wood for support, Ron got to his feet, and began a three-step waltz of pacing, cane, foot, foot, cane, foot, foot… "I don't hear much. Not any more. After the scandal with Superman, the Ministry moved most Auror activity over need-to-know." He shrugged. "I guess I don't need to know."

A hand ran through the hair of the figure in the fireplace of the small but tall stone office. "Do you know somebody who needs to know?"

Ron spread a hand in hopelessness. "Take your pick. Herminone, Charlie, Fred… Hell, Neville Longbottom has higher clearance than me these days. I think you might have dialed up the wrong fireplace, friend."

"Well, thanks anyway."

Turning back to his desk, and picking up the tea, Ron thought about it for a few moments. "Dick… whatever it is… it's big. Like that thing in Metropolis big. He doesn't leave the country unless he has to."

There was an electricity to the brief silence that passed between them. "Ginny." they both concluded in unison.

Ron put down the cup. "I'll come with you."

Dick paused, but didn't say anything. He wasn't sure how to put it politely.

Ron shook his head. "I'm a gimp, not an invalid. A crippled wizard is better than none at all. Especially if it's something that requires an Auror. I hardly think gadgets and bells and whistles are going to do it this time, mate."

Dark eyes darted back and forth in the flame. "Alright. Get here as soon as you can. Any intel you can drag out of anyone would also be appreciated."

With a wave of his hand, the green fire died away, and Ron whistled for his owl. He'd have to leave immediately, before word trickled down to Hermione. It wasn't that he didn't love her, he just wasn't in the mood for a lecture. Besides…Ron still held out hope that it would be possible to wake Harry from his stupor.

To Be Continued…


	2. The Howler

Standard disclaimers apply. I own neither set of characters. This is for fun, bla bla bla.

Pieces of Stone

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Chapter 2: The Howler

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"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione's voice screeched from between the barely unfolded flaps of the Howler. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but you should get back here right this instant. Before you lose your other leg!"

Dick winced and handed the red folded card stock to his companion. "I think it's for you," he muttered under the continued berating, then closed the living room window against the winter wind. He was still in his uniform, but the mask had been torn away. The lenses filters could be a pain under incandescent lights, not to mention it was impersonal being.

"Gee, thanks." Ron angled the page away from him and towards the kitchenette in an attempt to preserve his ear drums.

It took another minute or so for the Howler to wind down. He was chastised thoroughly for possibly getting himself killed and thereby leaving his teaching post unfilled, some broken down piece of kitchen magic that apparently only HE could repair, and worrying her half out of her mind before it was all over, in that high pitched 'I mean business, Ronald,' sort of tone she used when she was two steps shy of using a killing curse on him out of frustration.

He tossed the expired card onto the couch. "News travels fast. I'm sure I have one or several of my brothers to thank for that. I may find it necessary to dispatch them to the great Quiditch field in the sky."

Dick was not sure about Ron's nonchalant attitude. "What did your people have?"

Ron shrugged, gesturing to the now expired telegram. "Neville said that Herminone had a line on some Death Eaters, apparently. I guess she told Harry, who went after them. And he'd have turned it over to American authorities, if it weren't for that one little detail."

Sitting at his desk, Dick connected to a few databases that cataloged and tracked "unnatural" activity. There were times when Bruce's thoroughness came in handy. "And you're getting this from a friend of a friend, instead of from your wife."

Leaning on his cane, Ron looked out at the city through the slats of the living room blinds. "We don't talk about 'work.'"

"You don't talk about anything, do you?" It seemed to be a theme, lately.

Ron sighed. "Look, I spend all of my time at Hogwarts, she's busy with the Ministry. It's not like we have TIME to see each other any more. Practically speaking."

Dick didn't look up from the computer. "It took you seven minutes to get here. I don't think a few hundred miles is going to put a damper on your ability to see each other."

With a flick of his wand, Ron uprighted all of the pictures in the apartment that had been set face down on various surfaces. Dick looked away, trying to hide his reddened cheeks. Ron noted it, but didn't back down. "You're one to talk, you know. It's Year Seven of the marriage thing, which I hear is traditionally tough. And things just haven't been going well since I got booted from the Ministry. Apparently Hogwarts is 'safer' for the likes of me." He gave a bitter laugh. "Or they're trying to kill me off. The D.O.D.A. position has a… checkered past."

Dick looked at the Polaroid stuck to the wall with a pushpin above his computer, a picture taken the day he'd fallen asleep during lunch at the police academy, and had woken up just as they were about to shave his eyebrow. He should have gotten rid of it; it was another part of his life that was done, but he'd held onto it. It was a momento from back in the days when he had purpose and hope. "A job is a job, my friend."

Zatanna was on a mission with the Justice League; she'd be of no help. It was a little late to be requesting help from Dr. Fate, especially when Dick didn't know the situation, other than Harry Potter was in town, and the whole city had yet to explode or erupt into chaos. "She still loves you though. Otherwise she wouldn't go chewing your head off."

Grabbing onto the back of the kitchen chair Dick was sitting in, Ron leaned over Dick's shoulder with a sigh. "I hate research."

Getting up, Dick shut the monitor off, leaving his searches running. "Don't we all. I'm not finding anything, so I'm going to hit the streets, see what I can see."

Ron opened his mouth to protest the obvious implication that he was being left out.

"Don't worry. If I find anything, I'll call." Picking up the cordless phone, he tossed it to Ron. The other man looked it over from top to bottom, then tossed it next to the howler.

Ron looked around the apartment, wondering what the hell he was going to do to fill the time. It wasn't like he'd brought papers to grade, or even a book to read. "If you need anything—I didn't come all the way here to sit around and wait for Harry to blow something up."

Dick looked at his friend's gimp leg. "I promise I'll call. My machine's set to chime if it finds anything on a search. If it pops up with anything, you can use this to give me a buzz." Pulling out a small silver disk-shaped communicator, he pointed to the recessed center. "Pushing this will contact me immediately."

Frustrated and anxious, Ron pocketed it absently. "And in the meantime, I wait." He didn't see any books, not even a newspaper. It was going to be a long night. Finally, he gave up and let himself collapse onto the couch. "Just… keep in touch. And if you run into Ginny…" Ron pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't even try to talk to her. She's not the same person we knew. She'll kill you as soon as look at you."

Replacing his mask, Dick nodded and left.

To Be Continued…


	3. The Right People For the Job

Chapter 3: The Right People For the Job.

Harry ordered another full glass of whiskey. It was a little expensive, but it did it's job and helped him blend in with the regular customers—all heavy casual drinkers. Drinking it slow enough to not be considered an alcoholic, but fast enough to not be considered enjoying it, he put it back at a steady pace. It didn't matter to him either way—nothing tasted like anything any more.

Taking his third glass away from the bar, to a table, he sat across from a man in a black suit jacket over a hideous red shirt. The first two buttons were undone, and his thick chest hair was peeking out unattractively. The man looked at him as though he were crazy.

Harry shifted around a little, putting his drink on the table. "They say a sign that you're an alcoholic is that you drink alone. Want to help me stave off the intervention one more night?"

The guy made note of the sweater-vest and collared shirt beneath Harry's abused brown dragon-skin jacket. "Not really. What're you, some freaking tourist?"

Before the man could reach into his coat pocket, Harry pressed his wand into the man's gut under the table. "I've been told you lifted a crate from a ship that arrived last night."

The guy was more annoyed than scared as he let go of his lapel, letting both hands gently rest on the table to show he wasn't going after anything. "You some kind of psycho archeologist or something? That YOUR box of rocks?"

Leaning back into the vinyl booth cushion, Harry's lips pulled back in a tight smile. "Good. Then you can tell me where the crate is, and who told you to take it."

XXX

Neville Longbottom plunked an overstuffed brown folder onto a messy desk. "I think you're an ass for telling her," he informed the red-head sitting amongst the clutter.

"He's baby my brother. I'm not going to let him go off and get himself killed, am I?" Readjusting his magnifying goggles, George twisted his tiny screwdriver quarter of a turn. "Besides, 'Mione woulda found out sooner or later." He presented the blue and green beetle-shaped brooch to Neville. "A wave of the wand and the proper enchantment, and you've got yourself a grade-A distraction."

Neville inspected it closely. The inlay was incredibly detailed. No one'd ever known it was the product of a joke shop. "And this isn't going to hiccup like your last beetle?"

"The last one was a joke. It was supposed to fly off the wearer's cape at a boring party. You weren't supposed to use it in dire circumstances."

Neville shook his head. "Sometimes the simplest solutions are the best. Or it would have been, had the wings not fallen off mid-flight."

George picked Neville's abandoned folder. "These aren't orders, I hope."

"The Death Eaters are taking artifacts again. Fred thinks maybe we need a fresh eye."

George opened the folder. "Meaning the little Ministry sell-out is too busy getting himself killed to look at it." He shook his head. "It doesn't end. You cut off the head of the snake, but the rest of it never dies." He flipped through the first three reports, then looked up. "This is old stuff. First Era of Wizardry stuff, even. But Herminone should have a good idea what this stuff is. Probably better than anyone."

"Hermione… isn't a resource any more."

George sighed. He didn't even want to know. For a bunch of people working on the same side, they certainly did seem to undermine each other often enough. "Well, you're in luck. They're not trying to raise He Who Must Not Be Named."

Neville unconsciously let go of a breath he'd been holding. "You're sure."

"Oh no. This is older magic than that. All of this stuff is associated with opening portals through times and worlds. Fred and I once tried to score a few of these relics to make something that'd speed the week ahead to Saturday. This stuff's nearly impossible to find, though. Most of it was lost to the wizarding world on purpose."

Taking the folder back, Neville bit his cheek. "So if they're not raising You Know Who, then what're they doing with it?"

"I'd say trying to blow apart the veil between life and death," George offered nonchalantly. "The other stuff's probably to control and pick and choose who comes through. They're not going to get You Know Who because Harry extinguished his soul right and good. If you had to settle for a sloppy second, who would YOU go with?"

Neville wrapped his fingers around the beetle brooch in his pocket. "Oh I don't know, demons, monsters, probably any truly vile spirit they thought they could control."

George grinned. "Now you're getting the hang of it. Deceased Death Eaters… Sanchez Slitherin. Y'know. Anything that'd make our lives even more miserable they already are."

Trying to hold back his frustration, Neville thrust the folder into his bag. "Great."

XXX

Snow had turned to freezing rain, and stung Nightwing's cheeks when he turned into it, but he dived into the spray, making his way to the next building. He could feel Batman following behind, and he knew this wasn't about to be a social call. Landing on the sloped buttress of Bludhaven's First Presbyterian Church, he let himself slide down the other end, stopping on the gutter, waiting.

Feeling his mentor land beside him, he grinned without looking his way. "Merry Christmas to you too, you big dope." He didn't really feel like being cheerful, but it was traditionally the quickest way to get rid of Bruce. There was an uncomfortable conversation about the breakup that was destined to happen in the near-future, but tonight wasn't exactly the right time for this.

"There have been seven thefts in the last week and a half of archeological finds ranging in age of one thousand to three thousand years. Three have been in the United States, one was in a boat docked in Bludhaven Harbor. The shipment was intended for Cobblepot, and he's quite angry over it."

Nightwing sighed. "And you came all the way to Bludhaven to tell me this?"

Batman paused. "And Zatanna has warned me that there is an Auror involved. Be careful."

Turning around, Nightwing looked him in the eye, or cowl, as the case may be. "So you're not sticking around on this one?"

Batman looked out into the darkness that was midtown, where the houses were dark and the street lights few and far between. "I have two other artifact thefts to work on. I trust you'll contact Zatanna or Dr Fate when the need arises."

With a flutter of cape, he was gone, back into the night.

Nightwing sighed, getting back to his feet. He'd contact the magical big guns WHEN the need arose? Just what in the hell was that supposed to mean?

To be continued...


	4. Clubbing

Thanks to Charlene for the quick beta. Disclaimers in part 1

Pieces of Stone

Chapter 4

XX

The island sunset had been spectacular. The sea had been a fiery pink until the sun sunk beneath the horizon, leaving the group of wounded teenagers to stare into the orange flames with wide-eyed exhaustion. It was a full hour before Wally was up to dashing across the island to their former camp to gather up food and supplies. It wasn't until the entire group had eaten that anyone felt like being friendly or talkative.

Charlie had let them be for the night. He had two other ornery dragons to attend to, so he really didn't care what his younger brother and new friends did with Bertha. After she'd been fed and soothed out of her agitation, she curled up on the sand near what was left of the Titans' camp, and went to sleep.

Harry hadn't been inclined to do much sharing at first, but Ron had plenty of tall tales to tell around the camp fire. They were filled with magic and danger, and just as tall but true as anything the Titans had also shared. The hit of the evening had to be Roy's regaling, replete with sound effects, of his near-death experience while on a road trip to a 'Heroes Day' festival in Middle Of Nowhere, Iowa.

Apparently both Ron AND Harry had a fascination with the Green Lantern Corps, and Roy's up-close experience with nearly being beheaded by Sinestro in the evil Lantern's attempt to do away with Hal Jordan was just the sort of excitement they were looking for. It even loosened Harry up to share his own personal torture story involving a dragon, an egg, and a tournament he wasn't old enough to be in.

Dick thought that sounded about par for the course, and almost made them honorary Titans on the spot. It didn't get much weirder than that.

They all settled in for a nice eight-hour nap after that, still muttering about various adventures they'd all had. A tropical rain rolled in, but Bertha pulled one wide yellow wing around them, and they almost slept through the night.

Almost. If it hadn't been for that one thing…

XXX

The snow was starting to lay by the time Harry found the place he was looking for. This was a lousy Christmas.

The warehouse-turned-club looked almost violet in the shadow of the six story movie complex across the street, only small bits of pink and orange lamp light hitting the building. Hiding his broom beneath a ledge, Harry kept to the shadows on the roof. He'd have to find a way in that wasn't past the bouncer at the front door, and quick; rooftops were notoriously unsafe in this town.

They were unsafe all over, really. The Gotham sect weren't the only group that liked to take the aerial rout to avoid attention.

Approaching a row of half-fogged over skylights, Harry winced, remembering the incident with the Ministry trying to use a mind-wipe spell on Superman. On SUPERMAN.

He'd told them it wasn't a good idea, but they'd stopped listening to him long ago. They saw him as a liability because of Ginny. They saw Ron as a liability for trying to help him. He'd ruined Ron's life in so many ways he'd lost count. Harry's friend had lost his job, his sister, and his leg. All because of Harry. All because of him.

It was only three years ago they'd been sitting around the tree at the Weasley house on Christmas morning. Well, not sitting around, necessarily. There were far too many Weasleys now for that. But everyone had been in the room—Charlie's kids, Hermione, Ron's brothers. He'd been shoved into a corner, practically behind the tree. Ginny had crawled under the back end and curled up with him as they watched the next generation of Weasleys open presents hastily wrapped by tipsy aunts and uncles just after midnight.

The worlds had seemed full of possibilities with Ginny's head in his lap and the clean-smelling pine needles poking him in the face. When the youngest Weasley, Thea—otherwise known as "the biter" had opened her enchanted toy solders and promptly put their screaming little heads into her mouth, he'd even dared to suggest that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to think of giving Ginny's mom another grandchild to fuss over—instead of being 'reasonable' and waiting until the world was a safer place.

Sometimes it didn't seem as if the world would ever would be, but that Christmas had been magical in every sense of the word. And he'd begun to believe that even in the midst of the danger and constant chaos, normality and happiness could not only be achieved but maintained.

Trying to keep out of the light, but dodge the fogged over window, Harry whispered a spell to temporarily give him better sight. There were consequences for all spells, and he'd be stuck with a headache for the rest of the night, but there were too many flashing colors for him to readily pick out who he was looking for.

The pain was instantaneous, but so was the improvement. He could see the small, rotund figure in the black dinner jacket towards the back of the crowed. Though he'd never given most Muggle crime a lot of though, this Penguin's business was common even in the wizarding world—the business of illegal enterprise.

Why was this man collecting the relics? He couldn't possibly know their uses. Muggles that dabbled in magic were not uncommon, but this man did not seem to lead a lifestyle conducive to "dabbling."

Harry pushed the glasses up on his nose, scanning the crowed for a buyer. "He's working for someone else. He's a middle man." Which was weird, because he'd heard the Penguin was frothing, raving mad that someone had stolen his artifacts shipment. Either he'd gotten them back, or he'd stolen them himself.

"The good word is that he stands to make a lot of money off of this transaction."

Harry spun around. He hadn't even heard Nightwing approach. He liked Robin far better. Robin had been a vibrant and playful kid, so bright and full of life. Harry looked down at his own battered dragon skin jacket and callused hands. They were both different people now. He should just accept that.

It wasn't like when they were kids, and they could escape from the grind of their adventures by a few hours' chatting. Roy had sworn never to talk to him again. Donna was dead. Ginny was…

Standing behind those two Death Eaters approaching the table.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	5. Fear Itself

Disclaimers in chapter 1, thanks again for the beta to Charlene

Pieces of Stone

Chapter 5

XXX

The Penguin placed a titanium brief case on the table and Nightwing touched   
something on his mask, a different lens clicking into place. "I think you  
should let me handle this."

Harry already had a hand out to call for his broom. "No. I need to handle  
this alone."

Nightwing stepped between Harry and the broom. "The last time a wizard  
tried to handle something alone; the globe on the top of the Daily Planet  
building was turned into fiberglass confetti. And I don't think you're   
clear-headed enough to deal with her."

Eyes narrowed, Harry's teeth clenched together. "And you base that   
assessment on--what? Exactly?"

As impenetrable as a steel door, Nightwing squared himself with arms over  
his chest. "It doesn't matter what she's done, you still love her.   
Therefore, you are going to make mistakes."

Harry's lip curled, and he turned away, back to the glass and to her. The  
last time he made a mistake, Ron had been the one to pay. There had been no  
amount of magic in all the world to repair him completely?neither in body  
OR mind.

With an aching head and heart, Harry forced himself to really look at her.  
The dark circles under her eyes, those hollow cheeks, her set jaw and   
permanently frowning brow seemed to hardly reflect the person she'd been.  
Ginny had been his anchor. What was he to be for her now?

He wouldn't--couldn't destroy her. The ministry saw it as weakness.  
Nightwing probably saw it that way too. That he couldn't make the right  
call, when it came down to it. Ron had suffered because he had not. Maybe   
Dick was right. "I don't know what you think you can do against her. A  
guy with novelty throwing stars and no magic."

Nightwing didn't flinch. "I've been managing this far in life without it."

Harry hadn't heard his response, however.

Ginny's eyes had locked upon his. He didn't know how she had seen him, or  
care, really. All he knew was that he could see into her soul--every ounce  
of chaos and pain and rage there. And every ounce of hate she held for  
him.

The worst part was that he knew she didn't remember why she despised him.   
They'd taken that from her.

After his third cup of tea, Ron decided to ease the feeling of swimming in  
a sea of chamomile by returning to his pacing. He'd long grown accustomed  
to his uneven gait and had nearly forgotten his fully mechanized wooden leg  
until the computer on the table lit up and beeped. It startled him to the  
point of tripping over his cane and ending up face-down on the linoleum.

"You've GOT to be Charlie and Bill's brother," a sultry feminine voice   
pronounced with amusement.

Grabbing on to the counter, Ron dragged himself to his feet, and crossed  
the kitchenette area and into the dinning room. It was a face he  
recognized. Witches and wizards that were open and in the main stream were  
few and far between, and several governments had been keeping an eye on   
her activities for years. "And Fred. And George. Did I miss anyone?" He  
shook his head, not willing or able to cross into Percy and Ginny  
territory. He'd had his daily dose of familial trauma, and he was at his  
limit. "Zatanna. A pleasure, I'm sure. Is this a social call? Or have you  
heard about our little dilemma?"

She took off her gloves, then top hat and began running her fingers through  
her frazzled hair. "Little dilemma indeed. Batman was extremely insistent  
on my involvement."

Ron sighed. He wasn't sure if it was with frustration or relief. Both  
emotions seemed to be competing for attention right now.

Zatanna looked around behind her, seeming to expect some sort of  
interruption. "I don't have time to do more, but I made a few inquiries  
and cast a few spells. As soon as I'm able, I'll channel some information   
through Oracle to Nightwing? the artifacts need to be retrieved, or we may  
very well end up with a reality-crisis."

Ron rubbed his forehead, a recent nervous-habit he'd acquired. "Bloody   
great. Odds of you being wrong?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not kidding about this."

XXX

Looking into Ginny's eyes, there was something that transported Harry back  
to that island, the first time he and Dick had met. That night had taught  
him a few things, only one of which was never to get too comfortable with  
the quiet moments. It had only been a few hours before dawn when things  
had truly gone to hell.

The warm rain hit Harry's face like needles as his broom dodged through air  
pockets and down drafts. He got slightly above and behind the grey winged  
creature, trying to stay out of its air flow, but still get it. He didn't  
know what this 'Gargoyle' creature was, or what it had done to Ron and his  
new friends, but he'd stop the thing.

It wasn't like he really had much choice.

Balancing both feet on the broom stick, he propelled himself off the broom  
and onto the back of the creature, sending them both spiraling towards the  
ground. "What did you do to them?"

They hit the sand, which was far more forgiving then the Quidditch pitch.  
Wood had taught him a long time ago how to hit the ground and roll so he  
didn't knock the air out of his lungs. This Gargoyle, with its yellow  
fangs and glowing red eyes wasn't even phased, however. He rolled with  
Harry, and in just a second had him pinned to the ground.

Those red eyes locked on his and Gargoyle didn't even breathe. "You've  
confronted your fears, it seems, or you would have been mine as well." The  
creature's brow furrowed as Harry's hand crept towards his pocket and his   
wand

Gargoyle got to his feet, wings beating against the wind and rain. . "But  
just remember? there is ALWAYS something to fear. Even if you do not know  
what it is."

Harry's hand instantly went for his wand, but by the time he raised it,  
Gargoyle was gone.

XXX

Harry snapped back to the present when he heard her speak. Their eyes were  
still locked, and she did not move a muscle. In a voice that was as much  
Ginny's as it was not, the threat echoed in his head: "You WILL die,  
Potter."

Leaning forward, Harry's fingers pressed against the glass like a Victorian   
street urchin. "Ginny, come back to me," he whispered in reply. "This  
isn't you."

How many times had he said it, and how many times had he not been heard?

Nightwing came up beside him, looking down into the crowded club, arms  
still folded across his chest. "THIS is why you can't confront her. Let  
someone else do it. ANYONE else."

Harry licked his lips. "Who? Who else is there?"

The crowed shifted and moved, some new player causing a ripple-effect in  
the throngs of scantily clad people.

The air rushed out of Harry's lungs. "Ron, what the HELL do you think  
you're doing?"

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 6


	6. Magic Rocks

Disclaimers in chapter 1, thanks again for the beta to Charlene

Disclaimers in part one. Thanks again to Charlene for the beta.

Pieces of Stone

Chapter 6

XXX

As he made his way across the dance floor, Ron contemplated casting a quick spell to turn down the volume of obnoxious thumping music. Or at least clear a path through the sea of gyrating people to his destination. He knew Harry was around here somewhere. So was Ginny. Certain things could always be relied upon.

Someone had to act as a barrier. Harry wasn't exactly doing his best work, lately. Not where Ginny was concerned. Harry had become persona non grata with the Ministry of Magic since the last debacle, and Ron had been shipped to a nice cushy teaching job (as cushy as the DaDA position could be) far away from London and the dealings of the Aurors.

He got behind Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy's defected flunkies, raised his cane, and used it as a crowbar to pry his way between them. "Hidey ho. Fancy meeting you lot here." The two didn't know what to do, and took a full step backward.

Ginny looked awful. He hadn't seen her in close to a year, but she looked like hell. There were dark circles under her eyes, highlighting the empty anger and rage he saw there. Her cheeks had hollowed, her cloak hung from her shoulders and her hair was dry and wild.

"Apparently once you go Death Eater, hygiene and proper nutrition fly right out the window. Which'd explain a lot about Snape."

Ginny's eyes narrowed. Whoops. Had he said that out loud?

"WHAT is this?" the fat little man asked, looking past the rims of his round glasses and down his cigarette holder.

Ron shrugged, trying to hold on to a bravado that he didn't really have the energy to maintain. "Well, I heard there was end of the world stuff going 'round, and I just wanted to see what was doing." He swung his cane back and forth casually, making no attempt to go for his wand. "And I missed ya, sis. I wanted to see if there were any other appendages you'd like to relieve me of."

Ginny rose from the table and her wand was at his throat in less than a second. "You've interfered for the last time."

XXX

The broom was in Harry's hand, and he was fully prepared to jump on it, and come crashing through the foggy skylight, but Nightwing's hand clasped his shoulder tight enough that he felt bones shift. "Wait for it."

With his free hand, Harry grabbed Nightwing's glove. "Wait for it? Wait for WHAT? She's going to KILL him."

Nightwing didn't loosen his grip. "No. Something's going to happen."

Slamming his broom into Nightwing's side, Harry pulled back and tried to land a left hook on the other man's jaw. Turning slightly, Nightwing used his own momentum to send him stumbling towards the glass, but grabbed his collar and pulled him back before he crashed through.

Nightwing sighed. "Damnit, Harry."

Not making a second attempt, Harry stared through the glass at the scene unfolding below, every last bit of his innards tied into knots. "Sorry." He couldn't believe Dick expected him to just stand there and watch.

Nightwing eased up on his collar, but didn't let go. "Ron's hardly incompetent. He wouldn't have gone in there without a plan."

"Oh yes he would!" Harry responded much louder than he intended.

At the booth, Ginny was still standing toe to toe with her brother, so close it obscured what was certainly a wand pressing into his jugular. Nothing was happening. What the hell was happening?

"We could totally mess this up for him, whatever it is." Still, Nightwing was worried because he'd told Ron to contact him if they got any new information. "Just… take a step back." He let go of the other young man's collar. "You've forgotten how to have friends, Harry. Part of having friends is trust. Trust him."

Nightwing felt Harry's jaw clench. "Trust Ron to get himself KILLED you mean."

Shaking his head, Dick let go. "If we go in there now, it'll be chao--"

A sea of purple and green swarmed the place, and the screaming started even before the bullets flew. Nightwing grabbed Harry's jacket again, pulling him away from the glass as the supposed 'warning shots' burst through the skylight, spraying glass and bullets everywhere.

People scattered, dozens being knocked down and stamped on as they pushed for the doors. Their cries were almost like a flock of seagulls

"Alright, Fatman!" the Joker cried out, walking through the parted sea of people. "Give me back my magic rocks! I stole them fair and square, you ugly little bird!"

Before Nightwing or Harry could change directions and dive through the now-glassless skylight, Ron looked through the crowd, then up at his friends. There was a look of apology in his eye as he grabbed Ginny's wrist with one hand then reached across the table for the titanium briefcase, and then vanished.

"What the hell just happened?" Nightwing muttered. A lot of people had a lot of explaining to do.

The Joker grabbed the semi-automatic from the nearest purple-clad goon. "Give me my magic rocks!"

To Be Continued…

XXX


	7. A Dark Cave

Pieces of Stone

Chapter 7

XX

Ron got the wind knocked out of him as he hit the stone ground hard, landing on his wand. Flinching and turning onto his side, Ron grabbed for it, and then tried to get enough air in his lungs to speak. "Luminos," he coughed, the tip of his wand lighting up. Taking a few moments just to breathe, he inspected his surroundings. Yup. Exactly where he meant to end up. Some place where she couldn't hurt anyone.

Ginny was face-down on the cave floor beside him. "Gin… Gin, are you ok?"

Her hands dug into the dirty shale ground and she pushed herself up, lunging for him in the same moment. "Where are the stones!"

Both of her hands were wrapped around his throat, and breathing, which hadn't been easy before was now impossible. "Gin--" he choked out, flapping his arms at her.

Finally, she let go and his head slammed on the ground. She got to her feet, looking around again for the case. "Where are they?"

Rubbing his throat, Ron struggled to sit up. "You won't find them." He pulled a small black box out of his breast coat pocket. "You're not the only one with ancient magics at your disposal." Opening the box, he showed her two dangly diamond earrings. "Miniature portkeys. Courtesy of Fred and George."

Like a wild animal, her hand slashed out and she grabbed the box from his hands, ripping the earrings off the velvet background. Nothing happened.

"Easy on the package, sis. Those were an anniversary gift for 'Mione." He grinned with evil satisfaction. He'd finally gotten one up on her, and found something to do with those earrings since his anniversary had come and gone, and they still weren't talking. "They're miniature. They can only be used once." Raising his wand, he looked around, then slowly got to his feet. "Yup. Sucks to be us. We're completely enclosed in rock." It was kind of like a Greek tragedy. But different.

Ginny slammed him against the cave wall then attempted to Apparate. Again… nothing. "What the hell have you done?"

Ron looked around at the jutting grey rock they were surrounded in. It was a cave he'd become intimately acquainted with the first time he'd met Dick, in fact. If trouble followed Harry, it was multiplied by five with the Titans and they'd had their sleep ruined by some demon-like thing named Gargoyle that seemed to somehow know Ron didn't like spiders or enclosed spaces.

It was funny he should run into Dick again, really. He'd been working on this little project for a while. There was a small bit of food, some water, the other end of the portkey of course. And that was it. "There's really only one thing in question, Gin. Whether we'll kill each other, die of starvation, or die of asphyxiation. I didn't want to do this… but you're not gunna destroy space and time." It seemed so reasonable to him—don't destroy the universe. But somehow, this concept was difficult to her.

Ginny contemplated the cramped hollow, then attempted blasting it with several spells. They all ended the same—some dust and a few broken rocks. At this rate, she'd make it to the surface in about thirty or forty years, Ron wagered. He sighed, hating to watch her struggle. "Just take it easy. I'm sorry it had to be like this… but it's like this. And… well, I'm just sorry, ok?"

Ginny leaned against the cave wall, rage barely under control. She might just kill him yet. "You don't know what you're standing in the way of," she told him spitefully.

Pulling up the leg of his trousers, Ron inspected the wooden leg. It was dented and chipped from the impact, but all the gears seemed to be in working order. "I have a pretty good idea."

She was silent for a moment, then seemed to plead with him. "We could change things. Erase all of this."

Ron sighed. He was so emotionally worn that there was no part of him capable of hurting any more. "It won't bring her back. It won't bring any of them back."

XXX

Before the wanton shooting spree could start, Nightwing let half a dozen throwing stars go, one nailing the gun, another the Joker's wrist, and the rest landing in warning in front of the Joker's men.

The Joker looked up as Nightwing came hurling through the skylight and towards the center of the mostly-cleared dance floor. "Oh, you've GOT to be kidding me. This NOT fair!"

Nightwing looked around for Harry, but didn't see anything. Deciding the Penguin's agents were his most pressing problem, he threw a dozen more wingdings, disarming them as quickly as possible. Looking around at the still-fleeing crowd, he wondered if it was possible to leave any faster. This was about to erupt into a fire fight.

Without any compunction, or seeming regard for pain, the Joker tore the blade out of his hand. He contemplated it for a moment, before driving it into the chest of his now-gunless assistant. "THIS is why we have a plan B!"

Without time to even swear, Nightwing turned his attention back to one of the biggest problems in his life, the Joker, while trying to give off an air that told the Joker's men not to even THINK about it. The psychotic clown had a detonator in his hand. Running the calculations in his head, Nightwing knew it was entirely plausible that the place was rigged. If he took out the pillars separating the seating area from the dance floor, he'd kill a lot of fleeing club-goers and even have enough time to escape himself—there would be no calling the Joker's bluff this time.

The Joker looked Nightwing square in the eye, raising the detonator. "You so much as twitch, Bat-brat, and we're all confetti." Cool hatred oozing from him, he looked to the Penguin, who was attempting to escape quietly. "Give me my ROCKS."

His men firmly planted between the Joker and himself, the Penguin felt bold enough to reply, "you scared them off, you nincompoop! That was a MILLION DOLLARS! What were you going to do with those rocks anyway? You don't even know what they're for."

The Joker's eyes narrowed. "Yes. I. Did." His thumb pressed down on the detonator.

TO BE CONTINUED….


	8. A Blustery Wind

Standard Disclaimers in part 1

Pieces of Stone

Chapter 8:

A Blustery Wind

XX

Nightwing instinctively shielded his face with his forearm as the Joker depressed the detonator. But instead of going off, the detonator sprung into a bouquet of fake flowers.

Not amused, the Joker's twisted face pulled downward in a grotesque frown, then looked around, about to ask what the big idea was. A moment later, there was a flash of smoke, and a large ornate box stood at the edge of the dance floor, instead of the Joker. It was a dark polished wood, runes carved into every square inch of it.

A bit stunned, Nightwing walked over to it slowly, a gloved hand tracing the carved trim, then he looked up, searching the rafters for Harry but seeing no one. Something knocked against the wood, and he jumped back, startled. He'd seen a lot of things with the Titans… or even with Batman for that matter. But that was a little weird. Through the thick wood, the Joker was letting off a litany of muffled curses, threatening to carve up the Penguin and roast him for dinner if he didn't get his "magic rocks" back.

"Not bad, huh?" Harry asked without a bit of smugness in his voice.

Nighwing turned around and looked at his friend, who was standing there with his arms folded over his chest. He supposed he should ask Harry if there were air holes in the box, but somehow the words couldn't make their way out.

Harry kicked the dense wood, and it made a tiny thud. "Why gift-wrap, when you can just put it in a nice box?" Looking around at the remainder of the crowed, Harry gave his wand the tiniest flick. "Alieno," he muttered. Instantly, they began to look tired and dazed. "They'll forget what happened. They'll remember this night as being as unmemorable as every other."

It was a distracted explanation following on the heels of his bland attempt at humor. Harry was avoiding something. Nightwing took his hand off of the wooden box. "We'll find them."

Calling his broom to him, Harry ignored his friend's platitudinous promise and took off.

Sighing, Nightwing shot off a line, but by the time he got to the roof, Harry was nowhere in sight.

XX

Ron sighed, finally able to catch his breath. He leaned his head against the jagged cave wall, staring across the small grove at his sister. Her head was resting on her knees, but she wasn't sleeping or weeping—she was plotting. She'd given up her tirades, and her attempts at using magic to escape, kill him and bring the roof down on top of them.

He'd used old spells, like the kinds that kept under aged wizards from doing certain things like Aparating at Hogwarts. He'd been planning and preparing this place for a long time. He'd hoped he never had to use it, but if he was going to take a desperate measure to take Ginny out of the game, there was going to be no way in hell she could escape. Azkaban would be easier to get out of than this cave—for both of them.

Her eyes latched onto his. "Don't look at me."

Ron's stomach sunk still lower. It had gone past his toes and was now residing uncomfortably on the floor. "Ginny… I'm sorry." The words sounded hollow. Perhaps, a long time ago, he had meant them. Now he was too tired inside to do much more than remember how he used to care, and remember all the nights he'd stared at the ceiling, wondering how things had gotten this far out of control.

"Shut up," she ordered, turning her eyes away from him.

Ron was used to people trying to kill him. That seemed to be his "reward" for being friends with Harry Potter. Mostly it was people trying to kill Harry, and Ron just habitually was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But by the time he was an adult, and the thing with Voldemort had reared it's ugly head, popped and oozed out all over the wizarding community, Ron had managed to collect a shopping list of people who royally hated his guts. He never thought his sister would be on that list.

XX

Rain still belted against the crags and cliffs, making the tropic island seem more like Hogwarts when November dove towards winter, straight through the freezing rain and thick, low-hanging clouds.

The last blast had knocked Harry off of his broom. He hit the sand and sunk into it, wet granules sticking inside his nostrils and eyes. Crawling to his feet, Harry wiped the sand away, trying to see through the rain to the monstrous thing that had attacked his friends. This was truly the worst vacation from school he'd ever had, and he'd spent how many years living with the Dursleys?

It was then that he saw the bodies… Ron was nowhere in sight. But the Titans…

"What have you done to them?" Harry screamed. He could barely hear his voice over the beat of the tropical rain. Blood was washing off of their battered, contorted forms, staining the sand then slipping away in the downpour.

Turning back to Gargoyle, Harry raised his wand, prepared to deliver a killing curse. He could feel salty tears running down his cheeks, burning as they mixed with the rain. Passing the sleeve of his free hand under his nose, he wiped away what was dripping there as well. Who was this creature? Had he killed them, simply because they'd been with Harry?

His lips had been wrapped around the words "Spherus incindio," to blow the creature to bits with a fireball, but slowly they loosened their grip. "Who are you? Has Voldemort sent you?" He could always kill the thing later, he supposed. But his only chance for answers was now.

"Harry, put down your wand!" the creature begged. "Harry… I'm not going to fight you…" The creature sounded so much like Ron.

Shaking his head, Harry blinked the rain away and squinted at the Grotesque. It had to be more trickery. "Who sent you? Or I'll kill you right here!"

The vowel pushing beneath his teeth, " Spherus " slipped out just as something crashed into his shoulder blades, knocking him back into the sand.

A gloved hand slapped his face. "Harry? Harry, he's in your head. Whatever you're seeing, it isn't real. Ron, get the wand away from him."

A second later, the gargoyle yanked it away from him with stony claws. "He was going to kill me, he was. Come on, Harry. Wake up. Get with it."

Slowly, the monster faded, leaving his friend in it's place. "Ron?" Looking around at the others, he saw that they were very much alive. And Robin was on top of him. "You can get off. I'm OK. What WAS that thing?"

Letting Harry go, Robin stood up. "Gargoyle. He plays on your worst fears. And he has a mad-on for us Titans. Sorry you got caught up in that." Taking Harry's hand, Robin hauled his new friend to his feet.

"We can get into boat-loads of trouble on our own, so it's not like I can hold it against you." Rubbing a hand over his face to get the rain out of his eyes, Harry looked around again. "Where's Bertha and Charlie?" A ten ton dragon was awful hard to lose.

Kid Flash dashed back and forth in a blur of yellow, then stopped next to Harry. "Gargoyle vanished after we finally got Ron out of the rocks… maybe he he's gone after them."

Throwing what was left of his snapped and shattered bow over his shoulder, Speedy grabbed a handful of arrows and shrugged. "Well, lets get going. Titans together and all that."

Wonder Girl grabbed Speedy, trying not to bash her battered leg off of anything. Aqualad and Robin were already following after the yellow trail left by Kid Flash. No one bothered to try telling them to stay behind, so Harry hopped his broom and tried to keep it steady with the extra weight of Ron as a passenger, and they were off.

XX

When you're young, nothing really phases you, Harry thought. He'd just seen friends slaughtered in front of him, but it had turned out to be a trick, so he hadn't thought beyond that. He'd mourned for Cedric, for Dumbledore and the rest, when they'd been taken in the war with Voldemort. But he hadn't dwelled upon it. He'd just kept pressing on.

Until Ginny.

It was a basic truth in life that 'that which brought the most joy also brought the most pain.' It was something he'd never really understood until that night when the Death Eaters had succeeded in destroying his life in a way Voldemort had never managed to. He'd dared to have friends, to create a family amongst the Weasleys to fill the void of where his 'given' family should have been. He'd found happiness with someone—had created a life with that person, and because of that, they, or the Universe, had seen fit to punish him.

Ultimately, everything that had happened since then was his fault.

Cold, dry snow swirled in front of him and below as it swirled around the rooftops. He needed to find her and Ron, before they killed each other. No. He needed the stones.

Making a wide turn, he circled back and stopped. He couldn't think straight when Ginny was involved. They were all right. He couldn't blame the Ministry for disowning him. It killed him, but the Ministry was right, Dick was right. He was probably more harm now than help.

Was there a way to salvage this situation?

XX

Peeling a glove off, Dick ran it over his sweating face. Leaning over the chair at his desk, he dialed up Zatanna, trying to figure out what the hell she told Ronald Weasley.

Wind ripped through his apartment until he finally caught his breath long enough to shut the window. By the time he got back to the computer, Zatanna still hadn't answered his hailing. A few more moments of frustration, and he saw a blip appear on the desk top, letting him know a message had arrived.

'No time to chat,' it started without preamble. 'Got my own troubles to worry about. It looks like there's already been one failed resurrection attempt, and it created a rift. Their previous lack of success is what prompted the current action of the stones. Without the stones, closing the rift will be next to impossible. Since this technically is an earth-ending crisis, the Justice League is on standby. Various world governmental agencies governing magic have been notified and are searching for the stones, but they seem to have vanished. I have no other information. Call me only if you have something.'

No signature, nothing else, really. Zatanna must have been dealing with the whole "rift" thing, probably trying to hold the gaping wound in time closed with a butterfly bandage when sutchers were more of what was needed.

Leaning against the wall, Nightwing slammed his head against it once. What had she told Ron? Ron had been the one to make them fall off the map. Surely Ron knew that they were needed for something important?

A cold breeze tore through the apartment, and Nightwing turned back to the window, sure he was losing his mind. Hadn't he just closed that?

"Alright," a dark, solemn voice said just beyond the frame. "We'll do this together. I . . . haven't exactly been doing the best job of this on my own. And I just . . . have this bad feeling. Like things're going to go from worse to 'worse still' very, very quickly."

Nightwing looked back at the computer. Was it even possible? "Yeah. Good guess. Basically, they've already made one attempt and failed. Zatanna's dealing with that mess. But we're not just keeping the stones away from Ginny, by hiding them or destroying them or otherwise, to prevent the Death Eaters from raising Voldemort. If we don't get them back in once piece, that 'mess' is going to bust reality open."

Harry hopped off of his broom and through the window, flicking his wand to push it shut. "Then we're going to need some backup."

"I can contact Batman and the Justice League--"

Shaking his head, Harry looked around the apartment, until he saw a rectangular protrusion in the wall, brick painted over a thousand times and some tile. Muttering an incantation under his breath, a hole blasted in the portion of the brick, blowing away the plaster blocking the fire place. Another spell, and where there had once been only dust and dirt a fire was roaring.

It was impressive, really. "Uh, I don't think that's a real fire place." It probably had been at one time, but it was probably blocked off at the top as well, to prevent heat loss in the old building.

The fire began roaring and flickering green. "That's ok. It's not a real fire. Hello! Anybody home?"

A face appeared among the allegedly fake flames (from which heat was emanating, Dick sniped mentally). "It's five in the morning," a woman's voice scolded. Eyes focusing on the two faces, her fiery eyebrows furrowed. She could have been Babs, with that look of concentrated consternation. "What has Ron gotten himself into this time?"

Harry looked at Nightwing, giving him a grim smile. "Well, 'Mione, you're not gunna like this one very much . . ."

TO BE CONTINUED . . .


End file.
